


A growing Terror (Sequel to "The Terror Inside")

by Murmures1234



Category: Homeland
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2019-11-06 11:13:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 16,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17938649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murmures1234/pseuds/Murmures1234
Summary: What happens after the events of the Terror inside?





	1. Home Invasion?

4 months post “The Terror Inside.” 

Bang. 

Glass Shattered. 

Carrie reacted at lightning speed, dragging her daughter to the ground. 

Fuck. 

Bang. Bang. 

Another two shots as Carrie raised her head, trying to determine where the shooter was. Thank fuck it was windy outside. 

Bang. 

Fourth round. Carrie ducked. _Fucking hope it’s a hand gun, not some rifle with a huge magazine._

She tapped her daughter on the shoulder. 

This was not how they’d imagined their first day back in the city. Peter's first day back at work. 

_Where the f*ck was close protection?_

_Where the f*ck were the UC’s?_

_Where the f*ck is Rob?_

They’d spent the last 3 months at the cottage, all together. Rob and some other Delta’s had essentially helped fortify it. Frannie had helped too, she was creative in laying traps. 

They hadn’t imagined Frannie’s statement would draw the ire that it had done. But 2 weeks in, and all the major news outlets had been printing the image of the latest victims of gun-shot violence on their front cover. Frannie had given another statement to the police; and two interviews to the press. 3 weeks in, and Carrie had had her first phone-call from Saul in years. Aged Saul, who should have retired years ago but hadn’t. A true lifer. 

There was a credible threat from some white-supremacist nut-job 2nd amendment cult from the Deep South, he had said. Conspiracy theory nut-jobs, and the Mathieson’s had better get out of town for a while. Saul authorised close-protection by Rob and 2 other Delta’s who were well known to Frannie already. 

Truth be told, Frannie had been more than pleased. She had been ecstatic. The city was suffocating, and she always did better in the country anyway. Peter had been put on garden leave. On a trip as the three of them, with Rob and Delta’s it had felt like a big holiday all of a sudden. The first day there they’d spent setting traps and warning systems, but then after that it had been great. Runs in the wood, ice cold swims in the lake. 

Of course it hadn’t all been sunshine and daisies; Frannie had tried to go hunting with the boys but had had a horrific panic attack that took every skill the lads had in them to calm her down from. Then Frannie had disappeared that night, with a rucksack of supplies; given them all the slip for several days as she’d gone for a “walk” to clear her head. They hadn’t banked on her escape and evasion skills being as good as they were. Two more night time wanderings later, sometime around week 6 she’d started to feel normal again. Started to sleep in her room instead of in the hammock in the Tree. Started going to the small Town near the cottage without carrying a switch-blade or hand-gun. 

Carrie made contact with her daughter’s hand, her daughter who was lying on her belly on the floor in the lounge, face white. 

“You ok?” Carrie mouthed quietly, trying to stay strong for her daughter. 

Frannie nodded. 

Carrie went to hand her the side arm she was carrying, knowing it would help her daughter feel safer. 

Frannie shook her head frantically, her face white. 

“No… You cover me. I need to get to the gun cabinet. They’ve not hit anywhere else on the house, and they’ve not tried to enter. You were stood up in the window, not me. They might not even have seen me. But that’s a sniper shot for sure, you won’t hit him for shit with that but I will if I can get to the cabinet and get upstairs.” Frannie was whispering urgently. 

“You don’t need to Frannie, Rob is out there?”  
“Well he ain’t doing much right now is he?” Frannie said back angrily, shortly, sounding just like Peter all of a sudden. “Where the f*ck is he?” 

“He should fucking be here!” Carrie responded, angrily. 

“Well he ain’t. Cover me, _now_ ”. 

Carrie let off the rest of her shots from her side arm intermittently as Frannie crawled towards the door and opened it. 

Carrie hated it, but Frannie was right. 

They were under attack, and survival was more important than feelings. Frannie was the better shot, by miles. 

_Where the fuck is Rob?_

Frannie had also been right, whoever was trying to kill them was only aiming for the lounge window. Either he had orders to kill Carrie, or he hadn’t seen Frannie was in the house. That, and he clearly didn’t want his finger prints anywhere near a crime scene. 

She loaded a new magazine into her hang-gun. 

Bang. She let off another shot. 

She heard the pitter patter of Frannie’s feet on the staircase, carrying her large, specialized sniper rifle. 

Fuck, the first live ammo she had shot since that panic attack in the woods would be at an active shooter. 

Carrie could only let off more covering fire, hoping the returning fire would give Frannie enough information to calculate where the shot was coming from. 

Carrie heard a shot from upstairs. 

And all of a sudden, no more shots were being had through the window. 

She paused for another few seconds to make sure of silence, before running to the door and upstairs as quick as she could, grabbing onto her daughter who was on slumped against the wall under her window, sniper rifle next to her on her desk, tears rolling down her shaking white face. 

“Phone Dad…” Frannie gasped out. “Someone will have called about the shooting by now, he needs to know we’re ok.” 

“Oh honey….” Carrie said, clutching her little girl into her arms. “You were so brave, so brilliant.” 

“Dad,” Frannie tried to gasp, but she couldn’t breathe. She was clutching her chest. Panic. 

“Shhh, just focus on breathing.” Carrie said, pulling out her phone and hitting the number 1 button on her speed dial. 

Peter was already in the car, tearing across the city. Control had already informed him his house was under attack. 

“We’re ok. We’re upstairs, break the door when you get here.” Carrie said shortly before hanging up the phone, desperate to get back to the task of normalising her daughters breathing. 

Suddenly there was vomit everywhere. 

“Mum…” she said weakly, “Can’t breathe….” 

“Shhh now sweetheart, just focus on breathing with me. In and out, In and out, In and out.” 

The sound of sirens was getting closer. 

Frannie jumped out of her skin when she heard the door being battered down by the Police, her breathing all over the place again. 

Peter ran up the stairs, three at a time. He burst into Frannie’s room, his panic subsiding as he saw his little girl and his wife still alive, clutched to each other under the window. 

Feeling sick to his stomach at the sight of the rifle set up on the desk under Frannie’s window and the white, haunted look in Frannie’s eyes. 

“Hey Red, you’re ok honey.” He started, hands out, coming towards the panicked Frannie like a wounded animal. 

“Dad…” She gasped out, reaching out to clutch his hand, still struggling to breathe. 

“Dad… I think I just killed someone…”


	2. Exfiltration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't sleep so smashed out another chapter.   
> Exfiltration, and Where the f*ck is Rob?

Peter’s heart broke as he gathered his daughter into his arms. 

He hadn’t wanted the darkness to touch his little girl. 

“It was kill or be killed Red, you did the right thing,” Was all he got out, as Frannie clutched herself to her father. 

She loved her mum, she really did. But Dad smelt of warmth, safety. He smelt of home. 

Maybe it was those early years where Mum was in hospital. Maybe it was the ski trips and the days in the woods. 

All of a sudden, the sound of gun fire again. 

“What the _fuck_ ?” Carrie and Peter said at the same time. 

Carrie moved to the window, tried to look out. 

“Mum, no,” was all Frannie could say as Carrie ducked just in time. 

Peter’s radio was crackling. 

“We are ten/niner, repeat ten/niner under multiple shooters at Capt. Quinn home address. Request immediate back up. Repeat, we are…” 

“Did you see anything?” Peter said, as Carrie crawled back over to them. 

“Lots of gun fire, no specific shooters- they’re well hidden.” 

“We need to get out of here.” Peter said as he heard a scream from outside, a Police Officer down. The radio was still going mental. 

“Red,” Peter said softly to the girl in his arms. “We need to move out of here ok, just follow me, stay low. Got it?” 

Frannie nodded, clearly shit scared. 

They crawled to the door, Peter dragging the rifle off the table with one snaking hand. The door was annihilated by bullets as it opened. 

They breathed a sigh of relief when they were in the corridor. 

“You ok?” Carrie asked her daughter, perturbed at the silence. 

Frannie nodded. 

“I’m sorry, I thought it was just one. I thought I got him,” She said, fast. “I could only see one. I swear.” 

“You did good Frannie, honest.”

Frannie nodded, unbelieving. 

Peter could hear heavy fire on both sides of the building. It made no sense. He’d insisted on purchasing this house because it was the most difficult, logistically, to attack. 

_What the fuck was going on?_

They’d have to try and get out the back- that at least had fences, hedges and gardens that might provide them some cover to the garage. The front was wide open. 

Hopefully back-up would be here soon. 

_Where the fuck is Rob?_ He thought, not angrily, but pretty fucking worried. There were supposed to be UC’s protecting them for their first week back in the city too. At least until they were sure Frannie was safe. 

“Dad… it’s not me they want…” Frannie said suddenly. “It’s not me, it can’t be. It makes no sense.” 

Peter looked at his daughter intently. Carrie had that same thinking look on her face. 

“Walk and talk, gun cabinet?” Carrie suggested. “We’re going to need to fight our way out of here.” 

Peter nodded. They got up, running down the stairs as one. Peter put his hand out to push Frannie into a crouch as they passed the open front door, Peter letting off rounds on the rifle as he went. 

Police sirens were blaring towards them, noisily. The officers that had helped him batter the front door down were pinned down behind their front garden wall. 

Peter let off a few rounds to try and help them, until he was sure Frannie and Carrie would be in the room with all the weapons stored in. 

He ran into the room, slamming the door shut behind him. 

Frannie was suddenly, animatedly explaining her theory, sounding for all the world like her mother. 

“I mean, why put a single shooter, somewhere so god-dammed obvious. They must have known I’d kill him. I've not exactly been quiet about the kind of distances I'm shooting. It makes no sense. If they wanted to get me, they’d get me on the school run. Or _at school_ if they wanted to make a point. At home, it makes no sense. They shot at mum, not me first. They didn’t even see me when they started shooting. They wouldn’t have had line of sight. It makes no sense that they’re here for me.” 

Carrie nodded, as she stuffed her hand-gun in her pocket, and jammed in the number on another safe, revealing hers and Peters’ rifles, and a range of smoke.   
“She’s right. They shot at me before they saw her. If they even saw her, if they even know she’s here. We disseminated good intel that we’d taken her out the city.” 

Frannie was loading a magazine into a handgun now, face still white but steely determination there. Adrenaline clearly pumping. A flick knife went from Peter’s desk drawer into her pocket. 

The sirens were drawing closer. He could hear more fire-power now, the gun fight intensifying. His radio still cracking but there was so much activity it was difficult to discern anything that’s happening. 

Peter picked up some supplies. A hand gun, swapped Frannie’s rifle for his own, grenades from the bottom of the gun cabinet in his pocket.   
All the stuff he’d saved for a rainy day. 

He came to the conclusion quickly. 

“We need to disappear.” He said, shortly. “At least until we know what the fuck is going on.” 

Frannie and Carrie nodded at the same time. 

“How?” Frannie said. 

“Follow me out.” He said. Pulling open the door, clearing the corridor before nodding towards the two people he cared about most in his life.   
They went through into the kitchen, crawling along the floor below the height of the breakfast bar. 

Peter went to open the door. 

“Dad, wait.” Frannie said. Her face was still white. “You said we need to disappear, right. They need to think we are dead?”   
Peter nodded. 

She crawled over to the hob, reached up with tiny hands and turned all of the gas hobs on the stove on, lighting just one of them. It would take a couple of minutes for the gas coming out of the other hobs to explode. It would destroy the house, but the effect was the same. 

“Good thinking Frannie,” Carrie said, marvelling at her daughters ingenuity. 

“Let’s move.” Peter said, smiling at his daughter. 

He threw a smoke grenade out the door, and laid down covering fire, instructing Carrie and Frannie to run towards the Garage as fast as they can. 

Carrie got Frannie in through the side door of the Garage, and started laying down covering fire for Peter. Just as he started to run, there was a huge explosion in the house. Peter was knocked off his feet by the force of the blast, but was quickly upright again and running towards Carrie and Frannie. Running away from his home. Well, he’d just burned his home down. It didn’t matter, he was running to Carrie and Frannie. He was running home. Home is where the heart is. 

He slammed the side door of the Garage shut behind them, to see Frannie behind the wheel of their non-descript SUV, starting it up. 

_Thank fuck for Daddies Paranoia_ , Frannie thought. She knew the SUV was registered out of state, to a Mr Jonathon Quigley. He’d told her that years ago, that if they were ever stopped by the Police, that Dad might not use his real name. 

She jumped across into the passenger seat as Peter jumped in, Carrie in the back. 

Peter pressed the button on his Garage door and pushed hard on the accelerator, exiting the Garage just as it opened. 

Carrie and Frannie still had their hands on their rifles. 

But the explosion had shocked everyone, it seemed. There was hardly any shooting now. Police officers looking on in disbelief at the ruins of the house.   
Peter accelerated past multiple squad cars, suddenly grateful he had paid extra for tinted windscreens, although anyone logically would have put two-and-two together and made four. 

The only person who knew that it was Peter, Frannie and Carrie in the car was Rob. Rob who was running towards the location of one of the shooters, slowed down by a bullet wound but adrenaline pumping nonetheless. 

Peter sped away, and sped. In silence. 

He hadn’t wanted his shit to infect Frannie. 

He made eye contact with Carrie in the wing mirror. She looked back, her look said the same. 

She hadn’t wanted her shit to infect Frannie too. 

It was bad enough they’d between them spent most of Frannie’s childhood in hospital, struggling to keep a grip on reality. 

Peter had thought this might happen. He was always the most realistic of the pair. He’d been insistent on the shooting lessons, it had been a bonus that Frannie had actually enjoyed it. Insistent on Martial arts and hand-to-hand combat training. It was always a possibility that time would catch up with them. Carrie had always had this fantasy that everything would be ok. 

It wasn’t ok. 

It was far from Ok. 

And what worried Peter more, as he looked at Frannie, was that he knew it would never be fully Ok again. 

_It’s a big step to kill a man.  
It’s not to be done lightly. _

That voice from years ago, Kuwait, echoed in his head again. 

He reached out with one hand for his shell-shocked daughter, clasping her shoulder firmly. 

She drew her knees to her chest, and shivered. 

He continued to drive. They’d need to ditch the car soon. Get to their storage unit, thankfully Frannie was wearing a hoodie, and he'd gone to work in a suit, so they could go on foot relativley inconspiculously (much less likely to be seen). Sort out Frannie’s and Carries distinctive hair at the storage unit, a fresh change of clothes. Some cash, keys to a new car stored elsewhere. 

The other thing he hated, he really hated, was the glaringly obvious. 

If they were after him, he needed intelligence. 

And if he needed intelligence, they were going to have to go back in. Maybe not all the way, but they’d need to know what they were up against. Perhaps a small circle, people he could trust. Max and Virgil. 

Peter continued to drive. And drive. And drive. 

The road out of the city was endless.


	3. A growing terror inside.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovery of the exfil plan, some family drama, and contact details emerging.

Peter was worried about Frannie. He was really worried. As they drove through the growing storm, he glanced intermittently at Carrie, and could see his worry reflected in her eyes. 

Poor Frannie was shell-shocked. Silent. 

In just a few weeks, she’d seen 40 children from her school slaughtered in front of her. She’d held the kind dinner lady as she bled out underneath her. She’d become famous, almost overnight, giving TV interviews. She’d been told there was a threat on her whole family. They’d been forced to move. Panic attacks, anxiety. 

That feeling of never being safe again. 

And just when they were told it was safe, some fuckers had opened fire on their home. It was supposed to be a fucking fortress. Their castle. And poor Frannie, his little girl had had to kill a man. 

_It’s a big step to kill a man,  
It’s not to be done lightly. _

And the worst bit about it was, they didn’t know why they’d been attacked. 

Frannie’s first thought was, of course, that they’d been after her. But then she’d had an epiphany. And she’d been right. It made no sense. There’d been a million and one ways they could have got Frannie without risking her shooting them. 

On the way to school. 

At school. 

Peter made eye contact with Carrie again, just briefly. Silently asking her opinion with his look. 

“We can’t assume a rational actor,” She said, quietly. 

Peter nodded, eyes back on the road. Thinking. 

It was a long way to their storage unit, too much time to think. 

Frannie remained silent, watching the storm pass by out the window. The thunder. Lightening cracked. She shivered. 

Peter noticed, switching on the heating. 

Frannie turned, and smiled weakly at her father, before she turned around to look in the window again. Peter reached out to squeeze her shoulder, but not talking as it was clear she didn’t want to. 

They’d always both done better in the silence anyway. 

They were running low on fuel by the time as they drove through the next town. Peter pulled up next to an older vehicle, one without an alarm. He jacked it in less than 5 minutes, old habits die hard and all that. Soon they were on the road again. 

The new car had $20 in the glove box too. He pulled in at a Macdonalds drive through, taking off his jacket, telling Frannie to swap with Carrie and pretend she was asleep. Her hair was too recognisable. 

5 minutes later, they had some food. He could almost see the life coming back into Frannie as she ate a hot meal and drank the sugary hot chocolate. 

They pulled off again at the next town, in what looked like a deserted industrial estate. Several doors unlocked later and they were in.  
Peter and Carrie breathed a sigh of relief at the same time. 

Frannie just stood there. Shell-shocked. 

“What happens now?” Frannie said, quietly. 

Peter pulled her into a side hug. “Well Red, first thing we gotta do is make your hair a little less Red.” 

Carrie smiled, stepped forward and opened the suitcase right in front of her. It was Frannie’s suitcase. They’d packed a new one for her every year. When she was 11 they’d started getting her involved. The younger she was they’d told her it was in-case they ever wanted an emergency holiday. As she’d got older they’d told her the truth, that Mum and Dad had lived very dangerous lives for a period of time. That sometimes, they might need to disappear. She might need to learn how to be someone she isn’t. 

This year, she’d packed a totally Goth outfit. It had started with an argument. The only brief she’d been given when she’d shopped for it, was that she absolutely had to be unrecognisable. So she’d done the obvious, and come back with a Skirt, Khimar and Niqab. Frannie and Carrie had had an explosive argument, one that unfortunately Peter had spent much of laughing so had gone on for much longer than it needed too. 

Frannie was funny when she was angry. 

“I mean, it’s perfectly functional. No one would see my hair, I’d be able to hide a gun and a knife. I mean, it’s not like anyone in the family is a terrorist!” She’d screamed. Of course that had been a nice sentiment. She’d known about Brody for a while, but it had been the first time she’d really shown how much she’d disassociated her background with Brody from who she was now. 

But in the end, Frannie had caved, in a huff. And she’d come gone out, slamming the door behind her, and come back with the most convincing emo/ goth outfit she could have come up with. 

Frannie had always been a fan of the “hiding in plain sight” approach. Even when they'd played hide and seek with her as a kid, she'd found inconspicuous ways to hide in obvious places. And with the black wig (black hair dye in the bag for a more permanent solution once they had access to a sink), ripped jeans, band t-shirt and hoodie, doc martens and long, functional leather coat, she was unrecognisable. 

It too them 45 minutes to clear the storage unit. Passports, cash, clothing for Carrie and Peter too. 

They’d checked into a faceless motel nearby, and before long, all three had fallen into a fitful sleep, Carrie and Frannie on each of the twin beds, Peter on the sofa. Peter was satisfied that they’d not been followed. 

Sleep didn’t last long; there was a growing terror inside Frannie. Peter had woken almost immediately when she’d started whimpering, he’d jumped up from his temporary bed on the sofa, and gone over to Frannie. He’d tried to wake her up but somewhat unsuccessfully. Her eyes were open, but no one was home in her head. She was batting, clawing, trying to roll away from the strong arms that had her shoulders pinned down. Instinctively fighting, in fear for her life.  
Before long, the screaming woke Carrie up too. She immediately came over to help Peter, taking over, and getting a punch to her cheek in the process. Eventually though, between them, they managed to restrain Frannie enough to make her feel safe, and slowly, she blinked, coming back to reality from her sleep state, the soft words of mum, but also Dad’s soft, lilting tones breaking her out of her misery. 

She caught sight of her Dads face, and burst into tears. 

“I thought you were dead…” she sobbed, “It was so real.” 

Some-time later, she sobbed herself back to sleep. 

Still sat on the bed, once Frannie was asleep, Carrie whispered the obvious. 

“You know we can’t leave her,” Carrie said. “We have to cabosh your exfil plan for her. She needs to stay with us” 

Peter nodded, the distress obvious in his face. 

He’d insisted, that if it all went south, Frannie was safe. That was the overwhelming thing, a separate exfil plan for her, at least initially. While Carrie and Peter sorted out whatever they could and then followed. 

It had been a plan that was nice in the planning. Best laid plans go aft astray though. That was the saying, right? 

Frannie saved would have freed them up to be a whole lot more ruthless. 

But it was clear that they couldn’t separate. They’d either all have to go to Mexico, or they’d have to all stay. 

And staying could get really dodgy. 

“How do we decide?” Peter asked his wife. 

Carrie looked back at her husband. Reached out to stroke her daughters’ nightmare soaked hair. 

“Maybe it should be her choice?” Carrie asked. 

And so, the following morning, in the cold light of the early morning sun, they asked her. It was the worst thing Peter had ever asked of her. 

“What do you mean, you had a separate exfil plan for me? You were going to abandon me?” Frannie spat, disgusted. “Whose idea was it?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Carrie had said, shortly. 

Frannie had turned to her Dad. “That means it was yours. How could you? You promised you’d never leave me, you PROMISED!” 

“I just wanted you to be safe Red,” Peter said, trying to placate the angry girl. 

“Safe… Safe… I’ve never been safe. I wasn’t safe when James walked into the school, and I’d certainly have been less safe without you there. But I’ll never be safe without you, how dare you!” She spat. Her hands punching his chest in her rage. 

Peter pulled her in for a hug, she was trembling in anger. 

“Shhhhhh,” He said softly to her. “We’re not separating Red, we aren’t leaving you. Not now, not ever.” 

Frannie sniffled. 

“Promise?” She said. 

“I promise Red.” 

Carrie reached forward, putting her hand on Frannie’s shoulder. 

“We just want to know what you want. We can go as a team to Mexico. It was a big team that attacked us at home the other day, they’ve likely got big resources. Or we can try and find out who they are.” 

Frannie broke away from her Dad, and looked at her mum, questioningly. 

“Together?” Frannie asked. 

“Together,” Carrie confirmed. “It could be dangerous, it could be violent.” 

“So is normal life…” Frannie sniffled. “If the last few weeks have taught me anything, is that even normal people can experience danger. At least you guys gave me knowledge.”

“So, we’re staying?” Carrie asked. 

“Yea… you’ll find it way easier with a kid around anyway. No one looks twice at a kid dressed like a Goth apart from the cross the road to get away from the scary piercings,” Frannie said, smiling. “I still think a Niqab would have been better though.” 

Peter laughed. 

“What happens now?” Frannie said. 

“We need intelligence. We need to know who the threat was from.” Peter said. 

“We need Max, and Virgil. They're the best” Carrie said. 

Frannie laughed. 

“Lucky I’m here then, isn’t it.” 

Peter looked at Frannie quizzically. 

“Come on… Max you’ve not seen for years, or Virgil. But they both come in and teach a special class at School every year on recognising fake news. They’re not using those names any more, stupid.” 

“You’ve got contact details?” Peter asked. 

“Course I have,” Frannie smiled turning to mum. “What was the first spy thing you told me, _Always gotta keep your old contacts_. Well you guys were too dumb to go chasing when they dropped off grid, so I did. Max gets me all the latest pirated movies.” 

Peter laughed. Mathieson women, they were quite something. 

The terror that had been growing inside of him, was shifting a little, ever-so slightly.


	4. Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betrayed?

Hearing Frannie say those words, in that state had been heart-breaking, yet heart-warming at the same time. 

_“I’ve never been safe.”_

Whether she meant that as, “I’ve never been safe in Virginia because of gun laws,” or “I’ve never been safe because my parents used to work for the Secret service” didn’t matter, it was still heart breaking. 

But then when she’d say “I’d be less safe without **you** ,” that had made both of their hearts warm a little bit, in a way that perhaps it shouldn’t.   
The anger and tears, her deep seated fear of abandonment. God that broke his heart though. 

Carrie and Frannie were now giggling in the bathroom as Frannie dyed her hair black, ditching the wig she’d worn last night. She’d insisted on hacking away roughly at her hair, creating a “can’t be asked” half-done hair cut approach, but it meant she’d be able to dye the lot. Peter had tidied away their belongings, and was now heading out the hotel door, hood up, hat down, unrecognisable 5 foot 10, 180lb White stereotypical male. 

Breakfast and a burner phone. 

Just like the old days (although, at least it wasn’t tuna). 

It was a quick job, not wanting to spend any time more outside than he needed too. Ducking under and around CCTV like it was 15 years prior. Eyes on stalks. 

It was somewhat concerning how quickly all his skills came back to him. 

Before long he was back in the hotel room. Frannie and Carrie were sat below the window (out of sight) chatting. Frannie had a glob of black dye on her hair. 

You’d never guess they were on the run. Not until you saw the notes they had been making. Notes on potential suspects. Potential reasons. 

“What you thinking?” He asked, sitting down next to them. Pulling open the bag that had the pastries in. Frannie’s face was a predictable grin when she saw the almond croissant. The girl had a sweet tooth. 

God it was good to see her smile. This was almost normal. 

Almost. 

_God, he thought. What wouldn’t he give, to wind back the weeks? Back to the magical summer they’d had before the school shooting. A summer full of training, watching Frannie achieve new goals that she’d never thought she could achieve._

“Can’t make any decisions until we have more intel,” Carrie said through a mouthful of food.   
Frannie reached forward and switched on the room TV. 

“Today, on Fox News, this is Natasha Lucas. Concerns grow for a missing family in Virginia, whose house was attacked by gunman yesterday. Mr David Jones is reporting from the scene. David, what can you tell us about the situation? 

“Yes Natasha. Virginia was rocked again yesterday, just 4 months after the School shooting which devastated the Langley area, the family home of Frances Mathieson was attacked. Now Frances had become the face of the movement to improve gun laws in this country until she was forced to move to an undisclosed location with her family following concerns about her welfare. It seems the family returned to the city, thinking the threat had passed. Given the explosion in the house, Police are unwilling to comment on whether they believe the family as alive or dead, they gave a statement a few hours ago saying it was too early to confirm whether they died in the explosion. One thing is for sure, Frances Mathieson remains at the front and centre of campaigns to end gun violence in this country.” 

“When will we hear more from the Police?” 

“That Natasha, is currently unclear. A provisional further statement is suggested to happen at midday today, but these things evolve fast on the ground.”   
“Sorry, David, we are just getting in some breaking news, I’m afraid we will have to come back to you.” 

The TV switched back to the Studio view. 

“Breaking news, reports of two armed gunman, possibly a man and women, both White attacking a conference, also in Virginia. We will bring further reports as the situation progresses.”   
Frannie reached forward and turned the TV off, distress palpable in her face. 

“You ok?” Carrie put her arm around her daughter.   
“Yea, I just didn’t need to see that.” Frannie said, suddenly dejected.   
“Let’s get that hair dye of your hair.” Carrie said, standing up, putting a hand out to her daughter. 

Peter busied himself getting the burner cell he had brought connected to the network ready to arrange the meet with Max and Virgil. He pulled his hood up, and stepped outside again throwing their gear in the trunk. 

Before long he stepped out the door with Carrie, almost unrecognisable in her brown bob-wig, and a daughter who looked like a Goth. 

“What the hell is with that?” He said, as they got towards the car the car, pointing at bandages on her wrists. 

Frannie smiled back, almost disconcertingly.   
“No one wants to talk to a suicidal Goth teenager Dad. God, didn’t you two learn anything in the nut-house?” Her smile giving away the joke in the question.   
He ruffled her hair, weirdly disconcerted by its lack of redness. 

As they got in the car Peter turned to his daughter, who was happy in the back seat.   
He passed the phone to her.   
She looked at him. 

“What?” He asked.   
“Why am I doing it?” Frannie asked.   
“Because you kept in touch?” Peter responded, again confused.   
Frannie dialled in a number and passed the phone back. 

“Sorry Dad, that’s bullshit. It should be you, he misses you actually, Max does. He said you were the only one who cared when his girlfriend died in Pakistan ( _Sorry Mum_ ). You should phone him.” 

Peter took the phone, a pensive, unusually anxious look on his face.   
He looked at the phone, and then all of a sudden, pressed the green button.   
It connected. Peter started speaking, and driving north. He looked in the rear view mirror and saw a smug grin on his daughters face. 

Some things never change.   
Peter arranged the meet, and they drove north in a weird sort of calm. Frannie quiet, but not in the concerning way she had been when they drove south just the day before. The radio was quiet in the background. 

“Turn it up.” He heard his Daughters sharp voice. 

“This explosive news just breaking from the Weapons Systems conference which was attacked in Virginia yesterday. A video has been released on 4chan that Peter Quinn and Carrie Mathieson have claimed responsibility for the attack, in revenge for the attack on their daughter. This is unconfirmed, the individuals in the video had their back to the camera and used voice masking software, however it would make an unusual turn of events. Both Peter Quinn and Carrie Mathieson are veterans of the Wars in the middle East, Peter Quinn had a 14 year career in the Army, first in infantry as a Marine Sniper and then in the US Rangers. Carrie Mathieson served 11 years with US military intelligence. There is no news regarding the whereabouts of their daughter. We go now to the George Bush Centre for Intelligence, headquarters of the CIA, where the director, a former colleague of both Mrs Mathieson and Mr Quinn will give a statement.” 

Sauls’ aged voice came on the radio. The man had been 65 when they’d left after Islamabad; both Carrie and Peter had joked he would die in his Office at the CIA. They could hear every one of his 80 years as he spoke. 

“We confirm that we are working with local law enforcement, and believe that there is a strong likelihood that that Peter Quinn and Carrie Mathieson have orchestrated the attack at the Weapons Systems Conference earlier today, where 23 members of the Public have tragically lost their lives. The public should be aware that Peter Quinn and Carrie Mathieson are both highly dangerous, well-armed individuals with extensive military training, and should not be approached by the public under any circumstances. This is not the time for members of the public to try to play hero. We are urging Peter Quinn and Carrie Mathieson to turn themselves in to the Police. As a former colleague, and I like to say former friend I will now address them directly. 

Carrie. Peter. I know Frannie’s death is your worst nightmare, but a revenge mission will not bring her back. Whatever you are doing, it needs to stop, before it gets more violent than it already is. You will be stopped at any land, sea or air-port, by whatever means necessary. There is no way out. We are coming. I’m urging you, to turn yourself into the Police. There is no need for anyone else to lose their lives.” 

_“What the fuck?”_ Carrie, Frannie and Peter said at the same time.


	5. Dramatic Teenagers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short interlude on the way back to the city.

“Do you think it’s a play?” Peter had pulled into the gas station car park. His brow was furrowed, thinking, as he looked at Carrie

“What the hell do you mean, a play? Is this a game to him?” Frannie asked angrily, belt unbuckled, looking like a spring. Coiled, tense and ready to explode. 

Carrie breathed in, and out and turned from where she was staring out the window to look at her husband and daughter. This was a conversation she had never wanted to have.   
“Fran… Saul is…. Well I suppose you could say he is the perfect intelligence officer. He’s excellent at manipulating people into doing what he wants, ruthless. He has no boundaries, there is no absolute line for him, it is always movable if he gets what he wants. What he thinks is best for the country. But he makes that decision based on human evidence, and human evidence is always somewhat unreliable.” 

“What do you mean, no boundaries?” Frannie asked. Angry. Thinking. 

Carrie sighed. 

“For example, he… he had this play where he burned me in front of the senate committee, you know that news article the girls who were bullying you found when you were eleven. He talked me into that, so that the people in charge of the Langley bombing thought I was vulnerable. I went off my meds. And I did it all for him, because I thought he cared for me. When I worked for the CIA, I had no idea how vulnerable I was. He did, he should have put me on medical leave, or into a different job. Me, in that job, where I had access to high-value information and was regularly going into war zones, in charge of drones’ attacks, and yet not on any stable medication… it was absolute madness. But it suited him. It took me a long time to realise that, that the man I cared for like a father just played me like a puppet when it suited him.” 

Carrie looked out the window. Frannie was deep in thought. 

“So why do they think I’m dead?” Frannie asked. 

“I’m hoping that’s Robs’ doing,” her Dad started. “It was part of your exfil plan, and that’s really the best outcome in this scenario, that Saul and the CIA genuinely think you are dead. I mean the other possible outcomes are that Saul knows your alive but wants us for some reason, and is keeping you out of it. Or that Saul is being fed false info on all of us.” 

Carrie sighed. “I really hope it’s that.” 

Frannie was silent for a second. 

“We need coffee. And a new phone.” 

She leaned forward, swiping her Dads wallet out of his pocket. 

“Hey,” he said, but he was too slow. Frannie was out the door. Long coat flouncing around her, black hair waving in the wind. 

“Go with her,” he said, painfully aware that Frannie was unrecognisable, and with the wig and the new clothes Carrie was fairly unrecognisable as well. It was harder to disguise yourself as a guy, it needed time- beards were very effective. 

He watched the two people walk into the shop intently though, hand gun on his lap, ready to jump into action as a moments’ notice. 

He watched their communication with a small smile on his face. 

God, Frannie was good at this. 

She had spotted her Mum running up behind her, and shrugged her Mums hand off her shoulder saying “fuck off Mum,” as they walked into the shop. The looked every bit a normal mum with an angry, troubled teenage daughter. 

He could lip read some of the “argument” they were having at the counter. 

“I want to phone my friends before I go back to the nut house.” Frannie screamed at her Mum. 

Carrie turning to the cashier. 

“Sorry, she’s got problems. We’re taking her back to the hospital now.” 

“Don’t talk about me like that.” Frannie screamed, hands pushing at her mum. 

_It was quite some acting._

“You aren’t having a phone.” 

“Mum, you can’t do that to me. You’re already going to lock me up, you can’t take my friends from me.” 

Frannie turning to the cashier, who looked so awkward. 

“She’s taking me to the fucking nut house.” Frannie said to him, tears now in her eyes. “Can you believe, she won’t let me phone my friends either?” 

A pause. A hug from Carrie. 

“Ok sweetheart, one phone call and a latte.” 

Peter couldn’t see what Frannie was saying to her Mum. 

But Carrie could hear it. Frannie whispered when her Mum hugged her. 

“I’m not sure how to do this Mum… how to survive this.” 

It broke Carrie’s heart. 

“You’ll get through it, honestly you will.” 

The cashier coughed nervously. 

“Your Latte madam.” 

“Thankyou, a Caramel Latte and a Black Americano please.” Said Carrie, picking up the phone near the counter. “And this, please.” 

“Mum, you don’t have to do that.” Frannie said to her Mum. “They won’t let me have a phone in hospital. I might as well just use yours.” 

“No, I don’t want you getting on the internet.” Carrie responded. 

Frannie huffed. 

Soon the two of them were walking back to the Car with three coffees and a phone. 

Frannie opened the door and jumped in. 

Carrie passed her the coffees then got in herself. When they shut the door Frannie burst out laughing. 

“Impressed, Mum?” Frannie asked, a sly, proud, smile on her face. 

Carrie nodded, rolling her eyes. 

“So what now?” Frannie asked. 

“We need delay the contact with Max, make contact with Rob.” Peter said. “Or try to, find out if he started your ex-fil plan or not. Max might be compromised, and he won't be as good at realising if he is. He's an IT professional, not SF.” 

“How do you know Rob's not betrayed you though? Or Max?” Frannie asked. 

“I don’t. I’m just hoping we matter more to them than whatever shit Saul has cooked up.” Said her Dad shortly. 

Peter drove away from the gas station, back towards the city. All of them were in an anxious sort of silence. Carrie putting the sim in the burner phone and typing in Rob’s number. 

Hoping, that they still had a friend. Praying. 

That it wasn't them against the world. Because it sure felt that way. 

Peters' stomach was in turmoil. He felt sick. 

He never thought anything would be as bad as islamabad. The school shooting had been the first time that theory had been proved wrong. Now, in the matter of weeks he'd been proved wrong twice. 

His life was falling away from him. His beautiful life. 

_Fuck that._ Peter thought darkly. _Fuck that. I was fire, and fury once, I will be fire and fury again to protect my family. Fuck with my family at your own fucking Peril._. 

He pressed the dial button when Carrie handed him the phone.


	6. Rob

The phone connected and he heard the phrase they had agreed upon long ago. 

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil” the voice said down the phone

Peter breathed a sigh of relief. 

“For thou art with me.” Was all he said in response, throwing the phone out the window. A smile growing on his face. 

The sickness in his stomach subsided, just a little bit. 

Rob, at least, was with him. 

“I’m guessing that’s good?” Frannie asked, anxious. 

“Yeah. He’s safe, your extraction plan is in place- he’ll be pissed when he sees you.” Peter smiled.

Frannie smiled. 

“I’m glad Rob’s ok.” 

She sat back in her seat, nestled in the big coat. Carrie turned around, and looked at her daughter. 

“You look tired. You barley slept last night, you should try and nap.” 

“I’m ok,” Frannie yawned. 

Carrie just raised his eyebrows and turned back around. 

Within minutes Frannie was asleep, her Latte getting cold in the drinks holder. 

It took a while from there, to get into the city. It was mid-afternoon by the time they pulled up at the non-descript house in suburbia. 

It had been a street chosen for a reason, busy. The strange car would likely not be noticed by anyone driving past. It had a garage anyhow for this reason- windows permanently shut so few people would notice if there were more people than usual in it. People were too busy around here anyway. 

What few high up in command ever realised, was that it was tradition amongst the Delta group within the CIA that after the first deployment, OPPOs would spend their danger pay cash buying a house together. It was their commitment to each other as friends and brothers in times of both war and peace. Every single one of the Deltas had been aware that the vogue of who they killed that week for their job would change as allegiances changed, and at some point the clandestine service may become public knowledge; their lives suddenly becoming very dangerous indeed. 

It was supposed to be an insurance policy, never to be used. But, he supposed, that was the very nature of insurance policies. They were bloody handy things to have when you needed them. 

Peter turned the engine off. 

“Hey Red,” he said softly. “Time to get up kiddo.” 

She rubbed her eyes. Blinking, she looked around. 

“Where are we?” 

“Our new home for a bit,” he said. “Come on, grab your kit and follow me.” 

They were soon around the back of the house, Peter grabbed a key from inside a fire pit, and they opened the back door. Cautiously, Peter dumped his bag by the door and started methodically going through the house, making sure all was still secure, motioning to Carrie and Frannie to stay put. 

“Rob.” He said out, cautiously. 

“In here mate,” He heard the voice, and Peter opened the door to the bathroom where Rob was trying to extract a bullet. 

“It’s all clear,” Peter shouted down. 

He looked at Rob, intently for a second. 

“You ok?” 

“Yeah, it’s a through and through. Did you get Frannie out?” Rob said urgently. 

Peter shook his head, taking over the tweezers, fishing around for the bullet fragments. 

“What?” Rob said through gritted teeth. “You said that was the only thing that mattered in this scenario Peter, Frannie safe.” 

“She wouldn’t go… I couldn’t force her. Not after everything that’s happened. She barely slept last night, she’s having night terrors. I couldn’t send her off by herself.” 

Frannie was in the doorway now. 

“Uncle Rob!” She said, face suddenly white, scared. 

Another person she loved covered in blood. 

Rob saw the look on her face. 

“Hey… don’t stress, I’m going to be ok.” 

Tears were suddenly in her eyes again. Guilt in her face. 

“’m sorry,” she said, her voice suddenly thick with emotion. “It was at our house, wasn’t it? I was cussing you out but you were out there the whole time, weren’t you? ‘m sorry, I was real scared.” 

Peter put down the tweezers having got the last fragment out of Robs shoulder, clamping his hand and a dressing on the now bleeding wound. 

Rob looked into Frannie’s eyes, the eyes of the little girl that pulled his OPPO and brother out of the dark void that she was currently teetering on the edge of. He’d failed once, by failing to pull Peter back in time. He wasn’t going to fail again. 

“Frannie. You’re a 15 year old child. It’s our responsibility to keep you safe. We fucked that up. It’s not your responsibility to keep us safe, protect us. I saw the first shooter fall, that was you, wasn’t it?” 

Frannie nodded, sniffling. 

“See, you’ve already gone above and beyond kiddo. You saved my life by taking him out, 100%. He had me bracketed that guy, for sure. You’ve gone way beyond what anyone could expect of a child, ok?” 

Frannie nodded, again. 

“So what the f*ck is up with your hair?” He said, ruffling it, a smile on his face as he tried to change the subject. 

“Mum wouldn’t let me wear a Niqab, so I figured going full hardcore goth was the next best teenage rebellion?” 

“And this?” He said, pointing to the bandages on her wrist. It was a blunt, if not unreasonable question given the family history. 

“Oh don’t be stupid,” she said, punching him in the arm. “That’s so no one talks to me. Acting crazy is a way more effective deterrent than packing any kind of fire-arms. I learned that the year school was shitty.” A watery smile back on her face. 

“Go see if Mum needs any help,” Peter said to his daughter. “I need to dress this reprobates’ shoulder so he doesn’t get an infection.”   
Frannie nodded and flounced downstairs.   
Peter busied himself with washing the wound thoroughly before applying the haemostatic powder. 

“Talk to me bro,” Rob said. “I don’t like it when you’re quiet.” 

Peter sighed. 

“I don’t know what the f*cks going on. And I don’t like it. Did you find any of the fuckers who shot up my house?” 

“Yea, I found the one Frannie killed. They managed to extract everyone else.”   
“Any ideas?” 

“None. He had a passport, but it was a plant. Fake, to send us off trail. Maltese. You can buy citizenship for Malta.”   
“Fuck.” 

“Yea, fully. So I planted Frannie’s exfil, ditched my phone and came here.” 

Peter paused his work on the dressing for a second. 

“Do you think this is my re-education package?” It was the question he hadn’t wanted to ask. “Fara’s deal was with Dar, and Dar alone. I’ve been on borrowed time since he died.”

“It’s pretty fucking audacious for re-education. A public fit-up and a nationwide man-hunt? I mean, Saul must realise that we plan for this shit? We keep copies of stuff so it can end up on Wikileaks? That we have plans and back up plans and back up fucking back up plans? A back-up staging post house? We aren’t fucking naïve! No… it’s either a complete play, he wants you or Carrie (or both of you) back in. Or he’s being fed some shit. I hope it’s the latter.” 

“That’s what Carrie said…” 

“But you think it’s the former?” 

“Come on Rob,” Peter said, suddenly frustrated. “This has got Saul written all over it. It’s exactly what he would do. Everything. A gunner somewhere Fran would shoot? We’re puppets to him, puppets. He’s like a fucking Chess grandmaster and we’re just the fucking pawns. He’s everything about that place I despise. I mean, we have to make contact or spend the rest of our lives on the run” 

"Thats still an option Pete?" Rob said. 

"No it aint. Frannie deserves her life back. Life on the run aint no life" 

The wound was now neatly dressed. Rob stood up. 

“How the fuck are we getting out of this? Is this one too many?” Peter asked, suddenly dejected, emotions rolling through him that he didn’t know what to do with.   
Rob put a hand on Peters’ shoulder. 

“Pete, we escaped Haqqani, we walked out of Afghanistan. You’ve pulled off so many impossible jobs bro, we’ll pull this one off too. Trust. This time next year, you three will be back in a new joint with a nice white picket fence again.” 

Peter nodded, not trusting himself to speak. 

Rob pulled him in for a man hug, wincing at the movement in the wound, but Peter couldn’t see it.   
Peter pulled away, still embarrassed at his emotions. 

“Thanks Bro.” 

“I meant what I said, all those years ago Pete. I was selfish once, I left you out in the wilderness once, and I won’t do it again. I meant that.” 

Pete nodded, so… so grateful. Loyalty was everything in times like this. Loyalty from people with immovable fucking lines.   
Words could not describe how grateful he felt towards Rob, as Rob pushed past towards the corridor where a holdall held his clothes. He left Rob to it, getting dressed, as he stalked downstairs towards the kitchen where Frannie and Carrie were cooking what they could from the various canned foods.   
Carrie caught sight of Peter. She went over to give him a hug and a kiss. 

“He ok?” She asked.   
“Yeah, bullet wound to the shoulder. He’ll be fine, it didn’t hit anything vital.”   
“Good,” she said, “You ok?” 

Peter didn’t really want to answer that, not in front of Frannie. 

But Frannie got there first, evidence of her tears still clear in her make up. She put her small hand on his arms. 

“You can say it Dad, if you want? You’ve just been betrayed on national TV, had your house shot up, had to negotiate the release of your daughter from some fucked up hostage situation. Watch another kid you knew well kill himself on those little cameras. This whole thing is fucked. Everythings been fucked up since that day at school. It’s ok not to be ok with that.” 

Peter reached out and grabbed his daughter in for a hug, pulling her in tight under his arm. _How had they managed to raise such a fucking diamond of a child?_

“You’re one special fucking kid Red, you know that right?”

Frannie didn’t respond. Her arms were tight around her Dad, as Peter stood there in the middle of the kitchen clinging to both his daughter and his wife. 

The rest of the world was burning around him. But he had his daughter, his wife and his brother in all but blood. 

Maybe, just maybe… there was hope.


	7. The twitter play.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an old dog remembers old tricks, with the help of a special kid.

That night and the next few days went slowly, as days in intelligence often did. It was long, hard work. 

Rob and Peter had spent a full three days watching Max & Virgil before they managed to bring them in. It had been three days of long work, made more difficult by the fact that Frannie had been teetering on the brink the whole time. She’d still not slept a full night, waking up with horrific night terrors multiple times on two of the nights. It had got to the point with one of the nightmares on the first night, that Rob had put his hands across Frannie’s mouth and nose, stopping her from breathing as a method to get her to wake up. They couldn’t risk someone calling the Police- it was 3 in the morning and even in this busy suburban street the noises could be heard, of that Peter had been sure. After that they’d been taking shifts to watch over her, which had pissed her off more, but Frannie also knew the reality of what she had got herself into with this. 

Max and Virgil had carved themselves brilliantly complex new identities. So much so, that without the head start from Frannie, Peter had doubted they would have found them. Saul and his team certainly hadn’t as far as Peter could tell. 

And it wasn’t for lack of looking either, if the twice daily news reports and briefings they’d been listening too on the radio had been anything to go by. 

It was on the Friday, as Max headed for dinner with Faras’ father Sadiq, that they made the grab. Max, once he’d got over his shock (he’d assumed when Peter had missed the meet they arranged that they weren’t coming) had text Virgil to meet him at the busy train station nearby, and they’d grabbed him there. 

And like that, three days after they first got to the city, they were sat in the “back up fucking back up house” as Rob liked to refer to it, having dinner and throwing plans and ideas around as to where to go and what to do next. 

It all boiled down to one thing. The major sticking point. 

They needed to be sat down in a room with Saul, and Saul alone. That would be the only way they find out precisely what the hell was going on. But there just didn’t seem to be a feasible way to get to him. His home was well guarded, he was driven to and from work by close protection officers, and then working in one of the well-guarded buildings in the world. 

“If we can’t go to him, he has to come to us.” Frannie said eventually, “We can’t get to him, it makes no sense. We need something to bait him out, something they haven’t had time to plan for…. Something where he feels duty bound to speak.” 

Carries eyebrows were furrowed. 

“What are you thinking?” 

Frannie turned to Peter and Rob. 

“When you worked for them, how did you know the orders you got were official?” 

“They are the same every time, I still have a couple of copies,” Rob said. 

“Good enough copies to forge another one?” Frannie asked. 

“Yeah… I reckon so.” Rob said. 

“You can hack someones’ twitter account easy enough, right?” Frannie turned to Max and Virgil. 

Frannie fell silent for a second. 

“What are you thinking then Red?” Peter said, ruffling his daughters’ hair. 

He still couldn’t cope with the black dye. 

“It’s still all over the news that I’ve been killed isn’t it; the conspiracy theories… and the fact there’s this huge investigation into you guys and no one has even claimed responsibility for my death. What if…. What if we forge a kill-order for me, making it look like it was the CIA and that’s why no one has claimed responsibility. I mean for all we know, it was actually them anyway right? Then… then we just have to get it out there. All we need to do is hack Thomas’ twitter page- well any of the CIA brats from school would do, but Thomas would be best as he actually got shot at school that day.” 

“It’d be better not to hack Thomas’ page. He might delete it. Just post anonymously, it will get picked up soon enough.” Max responded. 

“How does that get us Saul though?” 

“It’s the Haqqani play I used in Islamabad” Peter said, nodding at Frannie. They’d all been so hung up on the fine details of the security at the CIA that they’d missed the most obvious way to get to Saul. They didn’t have to get through the security at the CIA, the target had to come to them. “All it takes once it starts to catch on is one of us to tweet about a “call to action” and there will be protesters lining up outside the CIA. Most of them will be kids from Frannie’s school to start with; the police won’t shoot, the press will be too bad if they do. HR will be all over it. They’ll have to placate them somehow…” Peter tailed off. 

“It’s Saul though, he’ll recognise the play.” Carrie said. 

“So what if he does? He’ll have to deal with the protestors at some point.” Peter responded. “Frannie, you’re right, this is the play.” 

And just like that, they got to work. Rob digging through his encrypted laptop files, looking for a kill order copy. Max on Photoshop and Virgil setting up an anonymous twitter account. Frannie had done the washing up, eager to distract herself. 

At 2am, the photo-shopped kill order went live, retweeted to the page of Frannie’s school. By 2:15 it had been re-tweeted nearly a thousand times. By 3:15 am nearly 10,000 times. Frannie had fallen asleep on the sofa, but the adults were nervously watching the retweet count go up and up and up. At 4am, they waded in with another tweet.  
“CIA murder hero, protest tomorrow @ CIA headquarters. Meet at @Langleyschool 9am for silent walk #nojusticenopeace #inmemoriam #neverforget #francesmatheison.”  
At 5am, it had been retweeted thousands of times, had gone viral. They switched the radio on low in the kitchen, and switched news channels every half an hour. It had been picked up everywhere. 

At 5am, some poor unnamed soul had the difficult job of waking up Saul Berenson. The overnight IT service had tried, unsuccessfully to get the kill order removed, but it was re-tweeted faster than they could take it down. 

“Sir… sorry to bother you like this, but we have a problem. You’re going to need to come back in.” 

“What’s the problem?” 

“Well… Sir… I’m not sure how to say this.” 

“Just spit it out man, come on.” 

“There’s been a kill order on Frances’ Mathieson put out on twitter.” 

“What?” 

“There’s been a kill order on Frances’…” 

“I heard what you said the first time goddamit,” Saul said, angrily. “But we haven’t put a kill order out on her.” 

“Well it sure looks genuine Sir, and it’s been re-tweeted nearly half a million times now…. Sorry, that’s 640,000 times. Worldwide media has it- Clandestine American Secret service murders 15 year old child. It looks bad.” 

“Well take it down!” 

“We can’t Sir, did you not hear what I said, its been retweeted almost a million times now.” 

“You said 640,000 times a second ago.” 

“That’s the nature of things going viral Sir… there’s more. There’s a call for a protest tomorrow. If you want to get into work at all tomorrow, you’re likely going to have to come in now. There’s an HR meeting at 7am anyhow to figure out the angle on this.” 

“I’m on my way.” 

Saul hung up. 

He suddenly felt pretty sick. He knew what this play was. He knew Peter Quinn’s file inside out. He knew that Peter would have known there was no way he getting inside the CIA building, he knew that there was no way Peter would have risked voluntarily giving himself up to his old employer. So he was forcing Saul into a position where he was going to have to expose himself or risk not only his own credibility, but the credibility of the organisation he worked for and by extension the credibility of the whole US government. 

Carrie would have known that he wouldn’t stand for that. 

He got driven to the George Bush Centre for Intelligence by his close protection officers within the hour. 

He was nervous. He knew that in a few hours he was likely going to have contact with one of the best intelligence officers’ he’d ever seen, and the best Special Forces officers the CIA had had hands down. And he was a little bit scared of both of them, he hated to admit. 

And that was before he had burned them both on National TV. 

What a fucking mess.


	8. The Heist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smooth sailing

They were all nervous as they prepared to leave the safe house that morning. Packing up items, leaving no trace of them ever having been there. 

The nervousness was reflected in conference room B at the George Bush Centre for Intelligence. The HR meeting had been long and arduous, not helped by the steady stream of excellent forgeries that kept appearing on twitter. 

A kill order on Carrie Mathieson first. 

A kill order on Peter Quinn second. 

Then Fox news digging up the information on Carrie from the Brody years; the time he had burned her in front of the senate committee. CNN landing on the news of Peter Quinn spending time in Psychiatric Care- Saul had been fairly sure that had come from Peter Quinn’s mentor’ in the Police. It was a fucking shit show, he thought, as he looked out on the car park that would be heaving in an hour. 

They had no plan beyond issuing an official denial. Saul was not to expose himself to give a statement. 

But Saul knew that wouldn’t work. 

They’d be camped outside for weeks. 

An army of Children, Mums and Dads. Angry, angry people- hell even Thomas’ father had stormed into the conference room, demanding to know why Saul had issued a kill order on the girl who’d saved his Sons’ life. Then his phone had flashed up, the fake kill orders' on Carrie and Peter sparking up again and igniting his rage even more. 

The breakfast news got worse. They had the little girl on there, the girl who’d been last out of the school with Frannie. She was only eleven, a pure tear jerker. 

It was a fucking media shit show. 

He looked at the clock. 

8am. 

1 hour till judgement day. 

Frannie and Carrie mingled in in the crowd. Both unrecognisable in their new clothing, just two more faces in the sea of faces gathered outside the school. Teachers were there. Police were there too- Frannie spied the deputy chief, but kept her head down, not wanting to be recognised. 

Masks were being handed out by some older members of the school- Cardboard print cut outs of her school photo. 

Students could be a resourceful lot. 

At 0930 the crowd was growing massively. What had started as a few school students had grown exponentially. Almost all of the upper years were there- some parents, friends. Local political leaders. Teachers, School staff. 

At 1000 Thomas, the boy who’d been shot in the school shooting, who’d had his bleeding stemmed by Frannie as they sat in that school hall just a few short months ago stepped up on a picnic bench to address the crowd. He had a megaphone in one hand. 

“I did not know Frances’ Mathieson. Not really. What I do know is her bravery saved a lot of lives just a few short months ago. Her words to the TV presenters about ending gun ownership in this country would save more if … if people just listened to them. And now she’s dead, in an orchestrated and illegal hit conducted by the very organisation which is there to protect us. You can say what you want to say about what her parents are doing, but the fact is, a 15 year old kid is dead… and that kid could have been any of us.”  
He pulled the mask down on his face. Held the megaphone up to his mouth. 

“NO JUSTICE, NO PEACE.” He roared.  
“NO JUSTICE, NO PEACE.” The crowd roared back. 

And so the march started. It had been silent at first, tears were shed for the life not only of Frannie, but of all of the children lost at school that day. It was 1.5 miles from Langley School to the George Bush Centre for intelligence, but it passed indeterminately slowly as more and more protesters joined the crowd. 

Outside the parking lot of their old place of work, Peter and Rob were getting set up in place. A hill rising to the right of the car park, the eventual result of the years of money wasting involved in the reconstruction of the building levelled by Abu Nazir in the so called “Brody Bombings” was providing them their perfect cover.  
The both were laid on their stomachs, Rob with a scope, Peter with a rifle. Just like the old days. 

Max and Virgil were waiting around the corner of the entrance. 

This would be a total shit show when it went down. So many moving parts. Probably the biggest heist he’d ever achieve if they pulled it off.  
Abducting the aged Director of Intelligence from outside the very building where he worked.  
He was nervous, incredibly so.  
Frannie and Carrie were out there in the crowd. It had been a great call from Carrie in terms of protecting Frannie- the Police (if Peter knew the deputy chief at all) were not about to start shooting into the crowd if it did turn violent, there might be tear gas but no bullets. But crowd stampedes were always a risk. And this way was the only way that didn’t put Frannie behind the scope of a long-gun but kept her somewhere in sight of all of them. 

By the time the crowd got to them, it was huge and noisy. The “silent walk” was a thing of the past. There was Chanting. It always surprised him how crowds managed to amalgamate together like that- the psychology of it. Frannie had started the chants, and they'd grown louder. 

“No justice, No peace! No justice, No Peace!”  
“CIA must pay. Arrest the director- take him away!”  
“CIA must pay. Arrest the director- take him away!” 

Saul watched the whole thing play out from his high up office window. 

He turned to his head of protection. 

“You know we cannot just leave them there… we are going to have to give a statement.” 

“You know we won’t be able to protect you if you do that.” 

“I know.” Said Saul, the feeling of dread looming in his stomach. 

Outside, you could cut the tension with a knife. Frannie and Carrie were moving through the crowd, masks still on their face. Chanting. Trying to get to the front. Frannie's hand was hovering on the handgun in her pocket. Peter was watching and waiting, looking through the scope of his long gun at the gathering crowd, waiting for the moment that Saul stepped outside to address them. 

Because Peter, Rob and Carrie all knew that Saul wouldn’t stand for the public annihilation of the CIA by the press. HR would try and say that they should ignore it. 

Saul knew if you ignored a problem, it didn’t go away. 

It took another hour for Saul to come walking out the door, slowly, aged and decrepit. Showing every bit of his 80 years ‘service’ to the country. 

Peter let him get within 100 meters of the crowd before he opened fire. 

Within seconds, the screams were overwhelming. Saul’s 3 Close protection officers had fallen to the ground with bullets to their knees, and Peter and Rob were up and moving towards the aged man who was trying to run the distance back to the safety of the building, through the car park. 

Peter and Rob intercepted him just as additional officers started to swarm out of the building, but all of them unwilling to open fire less they cause injury or death to the protestors. 

Frannie and Carrie had made it to the front of the crowd just as Peter and Rob did. The van was struggling to get through the crowd, so Peter turned to them, pulled off his balaclava and let off several shots in the air. Screaming "justice for my daughter!". They saw his face, and scattered. 

It was a face of fire, and fury. 

Peter and Rob between them bodily dragged the aged man into the back of the faceless white van. Frannie and Carrie jumped in as well.  
The door shut and they sped away.


	9. Interrogation (A short interlude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry- i've been super busy with school! But here is a short interlude interrogration based chapter.

Saul shifted uncomfortably in the van. The hood making his head hot. 

_I’m too Old for this_

“They’ll find you, Quinn, you need to end this, now. Frannie wouldn’t want this.” 

“Shut up!” A voice growled. 

“You can’t just abduct the director of the CIA Peter.” Saul tried again. 

“I said… shut the fuck up.” Peters’ voice growled again. 

“Carrie, are you here too?” Saul asked. 

Silence. 

“You and Peter wouldn’t have separated Carrie. I know you’re here. Talk to me Carrie, we used to be friends you and I.” 

Silence again. 

Peter was good with silence though. 

Carrie wasn’t. 

“You lost the right to call me your friend when you jumped in bed with Haqqani.” 

Silence. 

The van turned right, left. Right again. Swinging and swaying around corners. Lurching. 

They eventually stopped. 

Peter dragged Saul out of the van roughly, with the help of Rob. A new location, Max and Virgils’ exfil was what they were following now- a staging post in Virginia providing them an extra safe house. Carrie and Fran followed, carrying some of the black kit bags that had been in the back of the van (helpfully parked in a garage) to the house.  
It took them 10 minutes to unload the van. By that time, Saul was sat, cuffed to a chair in the lounge. 

Headphones over his head too, delivering uncomfortably loud white noise. Sauls’ face was a grimace. 

Peter and Rob were stood watching Saul, both drinking from cans of Cola. 

“We got the bags in Dad,” Fran said, quietly, all the while staring uncomfortably at Sauls’ face. 

_She knew, logically, her Dad had been… was… a dangerous man. She knew, this man, Saul, was perhaps even more dangerous. The man who had sold her family out on national TV, potentially ordered a strike on her home. But she was uncomfortable, really uncomfortable, with this enhanced interrogation._

Peter saw where Frans face was staring and moved towards her. 

“You don’t need to watch this Red,” he said, guiding her out the room, towards the small kitchen. He sat her down. 

“You need to eat something too, you didn’t have breakfast and barley ate at dinner last night.” He said to her. 

Frannie looked a bit like a Zombie, sat down on the seat. Tired, her face wan and drawn. The black hair making her look even paler than she already was. 

Peter pulled up a seat. He stared into her eyes. 

“Whats up?” He asked her, softly. 

She rubbed her eyes. She looked so young. 

“It’s…. it’s just…” 

“It’s a lot to take in?” Peter said back softly. 

Frannie nodded, imperceptibly. 

Rob had padded softly into the room. 

“You should tell her, Peter.” 

Peter looked darkly at his friend. 

He raised his eyebrows. 

“She needs to know, Peter. She needs to know you get her.” 

Frannie looked at her Dad. 

She didn’t think she’d ever seen him look so uncomfortable. 

Peter stood up. Turning away. 

Frannie reached out, grasping his forearm. 

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to Dad.” 

Peter spun around. Looking into his daughters face. 

_How had he and Carrie; two violent and ruthless individuals brought up a girl with such compassion? It astounded him every day._

“I was recruited your age Fran. I was 16. I first killed someone about a week before my 16th Birthday. I know what a mindfuck this is for you right now, but all I want is for you to have as normal a life as possible…to not end up how I did” He paused. He couldn’t talk anymore. 

All of a sudden, his 15 year old daughter was in his arms again. Floods of tears that until now had only been coming out in the darkness of the night terrors. Deep, guttural sobbing with barley comprehensible statements. 

“I just keep seeing it, and seeing it."  
"Feeling my hand on the trigger."  
" I’m not sorry I killed him, he was gunna kill mom."  
" I’m scared I’m going evil.”  
"Am I evil dad?" 

“Frannie… sweetheart. Ssssh.” They were sat on the cold stone floor now- Max and Virgil had come in, concerned about the noise. 

“We’re ok,” said Rob, ushering them out, knowing that Fran would be mortified afterwards. 

The sobs gave way after quite some length of time. 

They were sat there in silence for a while, before Fran spoke. 

“Sorry.” She said. 

“You don’t ever have to be sorry Red, not for crying, not around me.” 

She sniffled, but nodded. 

All of a sudden they heard a crash, and an almost animalistic roar of rage. 

Fast, Frannie, Rob and Peter ran into the lounge. Max and Virgil were barley restraining a spitting Carrie, Saul’s chair pushed over to the side. Saul, still attached to the chair, now laying sideways, screaming on the floor. His own body weight crushing his humerus. 

Peter and Rob hauled the screaming Saul back to the upright position. His face was now grey with pain, the balaclava clearly abandoned.  
“Are you out of your goddamned mind Carrie?” Peter spat at Carrie. “Calm the fuck down!” 

Carrie broke free of Max and stormed out of the lounge to the kitchen. Peter followed. But Saul was just staring in shock at Frannie, whimpering with the pain in his arm. 

She looked different, yes. But the features, on her face were unmistakable. 

Frannie Mathieson was still alive. 

_What the fuck is going on?_ Saul thought. 

“Not expecting to see me?” Frannie said quietly, as she heard the kitchen descend into chaos.


	10. A broken Humerus, a Confession and a bit of Family Drama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saul sews a seed of discontent into the Quinn-Mathieson household.

“You are going to have to talk if you want to make it out of here alive Mr Berenson. If my Mum reacted like that, you have problems.” Frannie said quietly. 

She looked sideways at Rob. 

“We won’t have long before we leave here. We’re not stupid, we know the van will have been traced. If you want to get your arm looked at any time today, you should talk. If you ever valued my Mum or my Dad, you owe it to them and me to tell us what the fuck is going on.” 

Saul was still whimpering. 

There was quiet, clipped tones being exchanged in the kitchen. 

Mum sounded angry. Dad sounded confused. 

Frannie knew she didn’t have time. 

She nodded at Rob. 

He pulled out a pocket knife. 

Saul winced, trying to pull away from the blade. 

Rob smiled; it was disconcerting. 

But all he did was cut the cable ties holding Saul to the chair. 

“So… why did those men attack our house?” Frannie tried again. 

Saul looked between Frannie and Rob. 

“Come on, you must have already told Carrie,” Rob said… “There is no way she would have reacted like that without you telling her something.”

“I’m… I’m glad you’re not dead.” Was how Saul started talking… “I never intended for you to get hurt.” 

“But you did send those men to attack our house.” Frannie stated. 

Saul looked away, unable to keep eye contact with those swirling blue Mathieson eyes. 

“Tell me.” Frannie said quietly, dangerously. 

Silence. 

Hands slammed on the table. 

Saul jumped. 

“Tell me.” Said Frannie; undertones of the Peter Quinn darkness clearly in there. 

Rob’s hand was on her shoulder. She looked like a bomb, coiled and ready to explode. The eyes might have been Mathieson, but the mannerisms were all Peter Quinn. 

“I… I needed your Mums help with something.” 

Rob breathed out between gritted teeth. Frannie’s head cocked to the side. 

“And you thought sending armed men to attack our house was the best way to go about it?” Frannie said through gritted teeth.

The door opened. Dad was standing there looking murderous, arms crossed. Mums face was pale, tears running down her face. 

Saul looked from one, to the other, to the other. A family he had ripped apart. 

“I’ve got a leak… I needed your help.” Saul tried. 

Frannie snarled.  
“Tell me why… you think shooting our house was a good way to accomplish that. Ruining my life? Our lives? Is this a game for you?” 

Saul looked helplessly to Carrie. To Peter.  
Carrie tried to start talking. 

“No,” Said Peter, seething. His hand on her arm. “You don’t get to justify his actions here, not this time.”  
Carrie swallowed helplessly. 

“I needed you vulnerable, I needed you to make yourselves targets for the leak. This leak could blow apart security in this country, it’s a leak to the highest levels of government and I needed my best on it. I never meant for you to get hurt Fran, and I’m glad you’re still alive.” 

“You don’t get to call me Fran…” Was all she snarled back. 

They then, in the silence, then became aware of the sirens drawing closer. 

“There were four vans with the same plate on,” said Max, quietly, looking at the man he once considered his mentor. “We have time.”  
Saul looked at Max. 

“Good exfil plan.” 

“I learned from the best.” Max said back. 

“Talk to us about this leak then.” Frannie said, suddenly sat back in the chair. 

Saul looked uncomfortable. 

Silence reigned again. 

“Tell us. You’ve obviously already told Mum.”  
“This isn’t a children’s’ game Frances’.” Saul stated. 

“I stopped being a child the moment 3 children walked into my school with AR-15’s and the government stood silent on gun reform,” She said biting back through her teeth.  
Silence. 

“Tell me!” Hands slamming on table again.  
Saul jumped and winced. 

Rob looked through the blinds on the window.  
“We’re going to need to move soon.” 

“Do you want to be left here and get to the hospital Saul? Or do you want to be thrown in the back of the new van, no pain relief and taken to our next location. You’ll talk eventually. Everyone always does.” Peter said. 

Saul sighed. 

“We have a leak… a leak that could explain the intelligence failings every year since you left. A leak which explains everything, from the events in Berlin, to the assassination of the President Elect. Everything that’s gone wrong the past 15 years since you left. I needed you back. I knew you two would figure it out. I had to do it, for the good of the country. That’s why I burned you; you need to look like you’re out on a limb and friendless. They will make contact.” 

Peter looked murderous. 

“Explain.” 

“There is evidence of long standing Russian involvement… a long way back. I needed to isolate who the spy is and the only way to do that is make them think they have a potentially huge asset who the government can’t touch. That’s you two. I’m glad Frannie isn’t hurt; that was never my intention. But you must understand why I did this… it was for the good of the country. That’s why I do what I do… I have to weigh the needs of the many…” 

Peter looked to Carrie, who was nodding. All of a sudden taken in again. To Frannie, who looked every bit as outraged as he felt. 

He flipped. 

“I don’t give a shit about this country…” He said, “All I care about is my god-dammed daughter.” 

“Peter… Peter… we need to listen to him. He wouldn't have done this if he didn't need the help.”

All of a sudden, Carrie was up against the wall. Strong hands pinning her shoulders to the wall. 

“You’re unbelievable. He sold us out. He could have killed our daughter, and you’re saying we should listen to him?” 1

Frannie’s eyes were wide, tears rolling down her face. Breathing becoming faster and faster in her panic. 

Carrie nodded. 

“You’re unbelievable.” Peter spat in disgust, shaking his head.  
He walked over to Frannie, pulling her up from the chair. 

“Come on, get your stuff. We’re going.” 

Frannie’s face was white, tears rolling down her face, shaking, as she ran upstairs to do what her Dad ordered her to do. 

Rarely had she seen Dad this angry, of all the arguments her Mum and Dad had she didn’t understand why this was it. The one thing that would make them separate. 

“Peter… Peter please.” Carrie began hysterically. 

“They’ll find you Peter, they’ll make contact with you if you’re out on your own. We can protect Frannie. Once it’s over, we will exonerate you. You will have your life back.” 

“No you WON’T” Peter said, his hands suddenly around Saul’s throat. Rob pulling Peter away. “You sent armed men to our house, attacked us, and sold us out, all for your god-damned fucking games. THIS IS NOT A GAME TO ME. I tried so hard to leave, I will NOT have you drag us back. Drag my daughter in!” 

“Pete… Pete, you’re scaring Frannie.” Rob said. 

"We help and he exonnerates us publically Pete... its the only way we get out lives back." Carrie said. 

Frannie was stood there, silent. In the door, small holdall in one hand. Watching it all unfold, shaking, face white with fear. 

"Dad..." she got out, breathing fast. Panic. Her Dad was scaring her now. 

“We need to move…” said Max. 

The sirens were drawing closer.


	11. Abduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when you thought it couldnt get worse for Quinn-Mathieson family, it does. A short interlude.   
> (Sorry for the delay, school and holidays got in the way)

They were back outside, getting ready to move out in Virgils’ black people carrier before you could say “scram.” Unfortunately, they weren’t the only ones out there. Before they could get in the vehicle, they were surrounded. Loud voices screamed at them in some far eastern language; Russian, presumably, but none of them really knew. There wasn’t enough time to tell. 

They were swarming them now, trying to separate the family. Hand guns were knocked out of their hands almost immediately in the rush. Frannie’s heart was in her mouth as she kept low, ducking and diving, trying to keep hold of her knife. It quickly became desperate. Carrie was knocked unconscious almost immediately. Several lay injured at Rob and Peters’ feet. Max and Virgil were already pinned against the wall of the car park and Saul remained un-attacked. Frannie just tried to keep moving, keep low, but in reality she knew she would soon be overwhelmed. Rob and Peter were trying desperately to fight through the swarm to get to her but it was hopeless. 

“Dad!” Frannie screamed as the knife was knocked out of her hands. 

A hood went over her head as she was dragged bodily backwards by the huge men. 

“Dad!” She screamed again, trying to kick out at the people dragging her towards the van, trying to hold onto anything and everything in order to keep the door from shutting. 

“Red!” Peter screamed back, trying to barge people out of the way, but it was hopeless. The door on the van shut and the van drove off, and those men still there from the group of Russians moved into another van which had been parked behind the first. Max and Virgil were stood by the wall, trembling. Carrie still knocked out on the floor. Rob and Peter panting, sweating. Saul stood there, just holding his arm. 

Peter screamed, a deep guttural scream that tore everyone in half. He kicked the wall. He turned to Saul. 

“You’re wearing a tracker.” He spat. 

Saul remained silent. 

“You have to be wearing a goddamned fucking tracker. It’s the only way they could have found us this quickly.” 

Saul looked from the murderous face of Peter, to the stoney face of Rob and back again. Max and Virgil were dragging Carrie into people carrier. 

“THEY HAVE MY FUCKING DAUGHTER! TELL ME, WHERES YOUR GODDAMED FUCKING TRACKER!” Peter screamed, has hand now around Sauls throat. 

“My watch… my watch” Saul spluttered, suddenly concerned. There was only so long you could push a man before he broke.

Peter let him go. Saul pulled the watch off and handed it to Peter. Peter threw it on the floor, a sharp heel jab breaking it instantly. The small device inside the watch was instantly clear. 

Rob grabbed hold of Sauls collar and dragged him towards the SUV, throwing him in. 

The sirens sounded, they were getting closer. 

“Peter, get in!” 

Peter didn’t move. 

“Peter, move!” He said, stepping towards the now shell-shocked man who was staring at the tracker which just caused his little girl to get abducted. 

Rob grabbed hold of Peters arm dragging him towards the car. Never had he known the man loose it like this, not in all the years and all the situations they had been in together.   
Frannie was everything to him. That little girl gave him hope. That little girl forced him to fight through so much shit to live again. 

Rob practically threw Peter in the passenger seat of the people carrier in his haste to get away. Carrie, still unconscious was laid across the far rear seats of the 7 seater, Max Virgil and Saul in the middle seats. Rob quickly moved around to the driver seat and they sped away from the car park. 

“Where are we going Virgil?” Rob said quickly, urgently. “Your exfil. Where are we going?”

“Reston…” Virgil started. 

Saul interrupted. 

“No… we need to go to Fairfax. If we want to get Frannie back alive you need to trust me, we need to go to Fairfax.” 

“I never trusted your friend Dar, Saul… and I don’t trust you.” Rob responded. 

“Trust me, we need to go to Fairfax.” Saul said. 

Peter looked defeated. 

“Do it…” Peter sighed, crushed. “Puppet master pulls his strings and we all must dance. Its no different to before…”. 

Rob looked at Peter, and then nodded. They turned right at the intersection.   
\------- -------- -------- -------- --------   
In the van, Frannie was struggling against the restraints, breathing hard under the hood. Shit scared. 

“Who the fuck are you?” She spat, angry. 

There was no response. She just heard the heavy sound of breathing. 

“What the fuck do you want with me?” She spat again, her voice cracking. 

A voice responded with a heavy, clipped accent. 

“You should stop fighting little girl. You’re not going to get hurt, you’re more useful to us alive.” 

Frannie carried on struggling. 

“Or don’t stop fighting, little girl. You’ll soon get tired. You’ll need some of that fighting spirit later on, I’m sure.” 

Frannie paused. 

“My father is a dangerous man.” 

“That’s what my employer is hoping.” 

“Whoever the fuck you are, you need to let me go if you want to live.” 

“That isn’t going to happen sweetheart.”


	12. Vibrations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short interlude of the vibrations of the van poor Frannie is now being spirited away in.

Frannie didn’t think she’d ever been more scared. Not when the gun man attacked her house, not when she was held at gun point by Adam after James killed himself. 

But now, as she was in the back of the van with this strange man and his clipped accent, speeding away from everything she knew, she was terrified. 

Absolutely terrified. 

When the gun man attacked her house, she knew Dad was coming.   
When she was held at gun point by Adam, she knew Dad was coming. 

She had given up struggling now, the hood over her head. 

The man laughing at her, his strange accent audible even though he spoke now words and only laughed. 

A little sob came out. 

_What has my life become?_ Frannie thought. _Just a short while ago, everything was different. Just a short while ago, I was never scared. I never did bad things. I’d never killed a man. I’d never… I’d never_

It was unbearable. She had never felt so alone. She couldn’t stop the sobs now, as much as she wanted to. She didn’t want this strange man with his clipped accent seeing her like this, she wanted to be strong, to have strength. Have the strength of her father, his indomitable spirit. His invincibility. 

She had never felt so hopeless. 

She’d never felt so far away from the girl who’d let hours upon hours pass shooting at half inch square targets. The girl who’d got her first strict muscle up. The girl who’d spent days planning epic winter ski tours with her Dad. 

She had never felt so desperate. 

The van rumbled away, faster now. Leaving the traffic of the city behind them. 

She tried to breathe, tried to have faith. 

Max and Virgil were good, they’d trace the number plates. Dad and Mum were the best. Dad would move mountains to find her, mountains upon mountains. He’d ripped apart Iraq years ago to find a scared little girl called Fara who had meant nothing to him. She had been just another face, in a seemingly endless sea of faces in Iraq. If he did that for Farra then he'd tear apart the world to find her. 

She tried to breathe through the sobs, tried to have faith. 

_He will come for you Red, he will come._ She told herself. 

The vibrations of the van did not soothe her.


	13. Henchmen have always been expendable

“What’s waiting in Fairfax?” Rob said eventually, trying to break up the silence of the car, get some noise, any noise that wasn’t the distressed, manic sobbing of Carrie. The stony silence of his OPPO. 

Carrie had come around shortly after they’d started driving. She’d immediately registered that Frannie wasn’t in the car. 

“ _This is what happens when you trust him,” Peter had spat at her, angrily.  
“Where’s my daughter?” She had spat again.   
“We will find her….” Saul had said, his face looking grey his arm still hurting, badly.   
Carrie had just started sobbing. _

Robs question came as a welcome relief from the noise. 

“Only a few people know about the safe house in Fairfax. It was the intention to encourage you to go there if you made contact with me. The traitor will know that.” 

“How few?” Rob asked again. 

“Only four. It narrowed down the potential leak from eighteen to four. I didn't count on them attempting to abduct collateral.” 

“My daughter is not collateral.” Peter spat back. 

Saul chose to ignore it. 

“I’m guessing whoever has just abducted Frances will be there to make contact with you Peter… give the demands. Then it’s just a matter of eliminating three others, and we can blow this thing open once and for all.” 

“Let’s just focus on getting Frances’ back with her family, eh?” Virgil said, looking increasingly uncomfortable with the situation. 

“Whoever it is won’t harm Frances’, she’ll be kept as collateral encase Peter refuses to do what’s asked.” 

Peter turned around in the seat. 

“Are you prepared for what that might look like Saul? Are you prepared for what that might unleash? Because I will do anything… anything they tell me to see my daughter again, to ensure my daughters safety. I will tear this country in two if they ask me to, I will kill you… I will blow up buildings…. Hell I’d blow up the fucking Capitol building if it meant that Frannie was safe.” 

Saul swallowed uncomfortably. 

“It's not my fault people turn traitor Peter.” 

“It is your fault that you dragged us back in, dragged my daughter in.” 

Silence reigned. 

The fourteen miles to Fairfax passed indeterminately slowly. 

When they arrived, there were two men in suits stood outside the house. 

Before Rob could stop him, Peter was out the car with a gun in his hand. 

“Where’s my fucking daughter?” 

“Oh… is that who the girl is? We were just told to get the girl…” A clipped voice said. “I assumed we were grabbing your wife daughter, but appears little girl means something to you.” 

The man laughed again. 

"It's Frances' Mathieson isn't it. She isn't dead. My my my. Aren't we clever Peter Quinn." 

Peters gun was at the mans’ head. 

“I wouldn't do that if I were you.” The man said again, in his clipped accent. 

“I want proof of life,” Peter spat, jaw clenched, clicking the safety off his weapon. “I want proof of life before you tell me your demands, or I drop you right here, right now.” 

The man laughed.   
“She's a child goddamit,” Rob exploded, frustrated. 

The man with the clipped accent laughed again. 

“A dangerous child though. A child capable of killing a man at a thousand yards, and a child capable of pushing a man to orchestrate the abduction of the head of the CIA.” 

A smile crossed the strange man's face. 

“I want proof of life.” Peter spat again, taking a step towards the man, the weapon now trained point-blank at the mans' skull. 

“Alright, alright, alright.” The man said. “So tetchy Peter Quinn,” he laughed. 

All of a sudden, a phone had been passed into Peter Quinns' hands and it was all he had within him not to sink to his knees at the sight of his little girl, hands cuffed with cable ties, sobbing her heart out in the back of a van. 

“I'm coming for you red, I'm coming,” he tried to say down the phone.   
The man laughed. 

“She cannot hear you Peter Quinn.” That laugh again. 

“Shut up,” Peter said, shaking, tears rolling down his face. His weapon point blank at the mans' head again.

“What do you want,” Carrie said, now stood beside her husband, pale. Her hand on his shoulder. 

The man laughed again. 

“What do you WANT!” Peter screamed at the man, shrugging Carries hand from him. 

“My employer wants the President dead. By Monday. Or you get your precious little girl delivered back to you piece by piece.” 

The man laughed again. 

A weapon was discharged, twice. 

Two bodies fell to the floor. 

Luckily the safe house was quiet. Remote.   
Peter spun around to Max and Virgil. 

“Move those.”   
“Aren't you worried about Frances now they are dead?”   
“No. They said I had until Monday before they hurt Frances'. The henchmen were expendable.” 

Peter looked at Saul coldly. 

“Henchmen have always been expendable.”   
Saul tried to hold Peters' gaze but couldn't.


End file.
